An open letter to the chief adviser
Dear Sir,
With due respect, I state that throughout my life I have tried to live quietly as a law-abiding citizen. At the beginning of life, I was not much attracted to studies, nor was the environment favourable. My grandfather, Alauddin Siddiqui, held the flag of the Congress with Mahatma Gandhi, and in the 1940s with Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah under the Muslim League, in the Pakistan Movement. Sadly, my grandfather Alauddin Siddiqui did not live to see the independence of Pakistan. He passed away before Pakistan was created. Just before its birth, on 14 June 1947, I was born. At one time I took pride that my birth coincided with the birth of Pakistan. As a child, I celebrated Pakistan Day with joy, lighting clay lamps at our village and town houses. Sometimes I lit small candles in a failed attempt to ignite the light of freedom within my heart.
Before I could understand, there was an attack on my mother tongue. The slogan “We want Bangla as the state language” was raised. At the age of five, how much could one understand? Yet I saw ordinary people sacrificing their lives for the honour and establishment of their mother tongue. On 21 February 1952, the Pakistani autocrats were forced to accept the demand of the Language Movement. East Pakistan flared up. Many events followed. In the 1954 United Front election, the entire nation united. People rallied behind the United Front of Huq, Bhashani and Suhrawardy. The Muslim League, which had brought about Pakistan, was wiped out in East Pakistan, that is today’s Bangladesh. In the 1954 provincial assembly election, the Muslim League won only 9 out of 300 seats. From then, distance grew. The occupying Pakistani government never tried with honesty or sincerity to treat us, the majority of East Pakistan, with justice. The provincial government elected by the people in 1954 was never allowed to function. Sher-e-Bangla was dismissed and reinstated as Chief Minister at will.
Veteran politician Ataur Rahman Khan was made Chief Minister and then removed again. Abu Hossain Sarkar was Chief Minister in the morning and lost his chair by the afternoon. The people became extremely agitated. In 1956, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy led Pakistan as Prime Minister with a 12-member cabinet for 13 months. After him came Feroz Khan, Iskander Mirza, and in 1958 Ayub Khan. From then onwards, we could no longer hold Pakistan in our hearts. Meanwhile, in February 1957, the people’s leader Maulana Abdul Hamid Khan Bhashani convened a grand conference in Kagmari. There he declared that if Pakistan continued its deprivation, we would be forced to say “Assalamu Alaikum.” His words were like a devastating earthquake. Today, such words may not pose any risk to life, but at that time, in that context, they surely could have cost him his life. Yet, with a resonant voice, with the courage of a lion, he spoke them, and the people embraced them with all their heart.
Since then, much water has flowed through the Padma, Meghna and Jamuna rivers. Ayub Khan removed Iskander Mirza from the presidency and sent him to England as a hotel manager. Then came ten years of deception and theatrics. After seizing power, Ayub Khan declared that the people of Pakistan did not know how to vote, that they needed to be taught. He invented a new system called “Basic Democracy.” Forty thousand members from East Pakistan and forty thousand from West Pakistan—eighty thousand in total—would be elected. They would be BD Members, and only they would cast votes. This system lasted ten years. The first BD election was held on 28 April 1962. Before the vote, veteran leader Sher-e-Bangla AK Fazlul Huq repeatedly prayed to Allah: “O Allah, I created Pakistan, yet I am not even a voter in this Pakistan. Please take me away.” Whether Allah heard his prayer, I cannot say, but on 27 April, the day before the election, Sher-e-Bangla left this world.
Much happened thereafter. In September 1965 came the India-Pakistan war, in which Pakistan was soundly defeated. Yet propaganda claimed victory. Such is the nature of lies—past, present and future. Lies never endure. They are eventually exposed, and those who profit from them end up paying the price. In the politics of Bangladesh, the first great shock to people’s minds and hearts came in 1952, and again during the 1962 education commission. The way students and the public rose against the commission was astonishing for that time. After the 1965 war, the people of East Pakistan felt utterly helpless. There was no security. In such a big war, there were only a few hundred, perhaps two or three thousand, troops in East Pakistan, and whether all even had weapons was uncertain. In such a situation, the people of East Pakistan roared in protest, demanding changes in the defence structure. They wanted the Navy headquarters moved from Karachi to Chittagong. Among 250,000 Pakistani troops, only about 6-7 thousand were Bengalis.
Demands arose for equal representation in the Army, Navy, Air Force and border guards. But the Pakistani government ignored them all. Then, on 7 June 1966, a hartal was called, in which many, mostly workers, laid down their lives. When Monu Miah of Tejgaon was shot dead by police, hundreds of thousands poured into the streets. At this time, under the leadership of the Awami League, the Six-Point demands were presented. Both wings of Pakistan flared up. Arrests and imprisonments followed. Some came out, some went in. One day we ate at home, another day in Ayub Khan’s prisons. Meanwhile, Monayem Khan became Governor of East Pakistan—a strange man. At one point he arrogantly declared: “As long as I am Governor, Sheikh Mujib will not see the light of the sun.” He kept Mujib confined, but in the end, it was the sun that turned away from him. Still the movement continued, sometimes fierce, sometimes slow. Then suddenly, in 1967, the Agartala Conspiracy Case emerged. Initially, 35 people were charged. On 18 January 1968, Sheikh Mujib was released from Dhaka Jail, only to be taken immediately by the army to the cantonment.
A few days later, in the conspiracy case, Sheikh Mujib was made Accused No-1. In total, 36 were accused. People became more agitated. Protests erupted in the streets. The trial began in Dhaka Cantonment. From all over the country, people raised funds, donating whatever they could to the Awami League’s coffers. There was an attempt to bring in a barrister from England to conduct the defence. Meanwhile, the movement grew stronger. Under the leadership of Tofail Ahmed, the Vice-President of Dhaka University and crown of the student masses, people rose with passion. The Awami League’s Six Points and the Student Struggle Council’s Eleven Points continued to fuel relentless struggle. At that time, except for the Student Federation which was pro-Ayub-Monayem, everyone was on the side of Bengal’s liberation and for the withdrawal of the Agartala case. From January 1968 to January 1969, the entire country boiled. On 20 January Asad was martyred. People became even more enraged. Thereafter, there was only movement upon movement.
On 22 February 1969, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, son of Sheikh Lutfur Rahman of Tungipara, broke through the iron gates of prison. On 23 February, Tofail Ahmed, on behalf of the nation, conferred on him the title of “Bangabandhu.” From then he became the undisputed leader of Bengal. The movement continued. Monayem Khan fell. AM Ahsan became the new Governor of East Pakistan. Within days Ayub Khan left, and on 24 March 1969, the Commander-in-Chief, Yahya Khan, took charge. He declared that he had no interest in politics, that he would hand over power to elected representatives and return to the barracks. Public politics was closed, but not indoor politics. On 1 January 1970 public politics resumed. On 11 January, a massive rally was held at Paltan with the slogan “Joy Bangla.” Then began election activities. In East Pakistan there were many parties. After the Awami League, the largest was the National Awami Party, led by Maulana Abdul Hamid Khan Bhashani. For the first time, political leaders were given the chance to speak on radio and television. Almost all gave speeches. As the election neared, other parties fell behind.
Suddenly, the coastal areas were struck by the most devastating cyclone of the century. Yahya Khan was on a trip to China. From China he came to Dhaka and then went on to Karachi, but he did not feel the need even to view the disaster areas from the air. This neglect enraged the Bengalis. The election, scheduled for 12 November, was postponed to 7 December. Meanwhile, Maulana Bhashani withdrew from the election with his party. He declared: “We want rice before votes. Those who cry ‘vote, vote’ are Yahya’s agents, Pakistan’s agents. Burn, burn, burn the ballot boxes.” However, though they shouted such slogans, they did not directly burn or destroy anything.
On 7 December 1970 a historic election was held. I believe that still 15–20 percent of people supported Pakistan. But in the vote, no reflection of that was seen. Out of 169 seats, the Awami League’s boat symbol won 167. The remaining two were Nurul Amin of Nandail, Mymensingh, and Raja Tridib Roy of the Chattogram Hill Tracts. Even they were not directly for the Pakistan government. The election results deeply inspired the people of Bengal. They began to believe that the deprived Bengalis would now regain their rights, their dignity, their wealth and their security of life. But in reality, it did not happen. The West Pakistani rulers started various delaying tactics. Yahya Khan called the National Assembly session in Dhaka, but after a five-hour secret meeting in Larkana with landlord Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, he indefinitely postponed it. At that time, the Awami League’s parliamentary committee meeting was being held at Hotel Purbani in Motijheel.
Meanwhile, an international cricket match was being held at Dhaka Stadium. For the first time in world history, the match was abandoned and all rushed to gather in front of Hotel Purbani. There, hundreds of thousands roared, demanding Bangabandhu’s next instructions. On 2 March, Dhaka University VP ASM Abdur Rob hoisted the flag of Bangladesh with the red sun and golden map over green at the university’s Amtala. The next day at the Paltan rally called by the Student Struggle Council, Bangabandhu was present. The general secretary of the Chhatra League, Shajahan Siraj, read the Declaration of Independence. Since part of the declaration had been read before Bangabandhu arrived, he read it again. It contained everything needed for a state—President Bangabandhu, national anthem “Amar Sonar Bangla,” battle cry “Joy Bangla.” At Paltan Maidan, Bangabandhu said little, only: “What I have to say, I will say on 7 March at Suhrawardy Udyan.”
On 7 March, Bangabandhu came to Suhrawardy Udyan, the largest and most inspiring gathering in Bangladesh’s history. It was announced that his speech would be broadcast live on radio and television. The broadcast began, some of the speech was heard, then suddenly it was cut off. Perhaps the rally site did not know, but when the broadcast was stopped, radio and television workers stopped work. As a result, the next morning at 8:30, Dhaka Radio broadcast the recorded speech. He said: “My brothers, the Assembly has been called on the 25th. The blood has not dried. I said on the 10th that Mujibur Rahman cannot join the RTC over the blood of the martyrs. If the Assembly is to sit, my demands must be met first: Martial Law must be withdrawn, all military personnel must return to the barracks, investigations must be held into the killings, and power must be handed over to the representatives of the people. Only then will we consider whether we can sit in the Assembly. Before this, we cannot sit in the Assembly. The people have not given me that right.”
Yahya Khan came to Dhaka from West Pakistan. He held a week of talks with the Awami League. At times it seemed a temporary solution was near, then again it grew tangled. On the evening of 25 March, Yahya Khan fled East Pakistan. Nowadays when I hear it said on 5 August that Sheikh Hasina “fled,” it seems grammatically incorrect to me. After the defeat at Plassey on 23 June 1757, Siraj ud-Daulah fled Murshidabad on 26–27 June by boat on the Bhagirathi. Ikhtiyar Uddin Muhammad Bakhtiyar Khilji, with the thunder of 17 horse hooves, forced Maharaja Laxman Sen to flee with family to Bikrampur through the back door of his capital. But Sheikh Hasina’s case was not like that. How could she flee? She landed not at a civilian airport but at the Indian Air Force base at Ghaziabad in a warplane. This was the result of mutual agreement between two states.
Be that as it may, Yahya Khan’s was genuine fleeing, so was Raja Laxman Sen’s. Sheikh Hasina did not flee—it was relocation. In any case, after 25 March the situation changed completely. The world perhaps did not imagine an armed force would attack unarmed people in that way. Whatever we say, the barbaric massacre of 25 March 1971 was unimaginable to all. In one night, 4-5 lakh defenceless people were killed across the country. Still the Bengalis did not bow. Bangabandhu was arrested and thrown into a West Pakistani jail. Some argue that because Bangabandhu was not physically in the battlefield, the war suffered. But I believe that if, like other leaders, he had taken refuge in India, Pakistan’s propaganda labelling him India’s agent would have been far stronger and more credible. Then, not in nine months but perhaps not even in nine years, would we have gained independence.
By pouring an ocean of blood, on 16 December we gained independence and defeated the Pakistani military. But over the other powers of Pakistan—political, social, economic, literary, cultural—we did not achieve absolute victory. Pakistani businessmen remained undisturbed, while literary, journalistic and cultural forces grew stronger. For various reasons, even after independence, it was still “the same old gourd,” with little change. Bangabandhu tried desperately with the Pakistani administrative structure. It was impossible for him, and so he could not.
In the Liberation War, I could not give my life, but I gave blood. To think that such a country will not prosper, that its people will not be free, stirs turmoil in my heart. From the beginning we made mistakes, and still they have not ended. When they will, I cannot say with certainty. In the Liberation War we fought the Pakistan government and Pakistan itself to the death and achieved victory. The leadership of victory was the Mujibnagar Revolutionary Government. Yet it is said that the East Pakistan government did not merge into the Mujibnagar Government, rather the Revolutionary Government merged into the defeated East Pakistan government. If true, then where is our existence?
On 10 January 1972, freed from Pakistan’s prison, Bangabandhu returned via London and Delhi to his beloved homeland. On 24 January 1972, at his word, the Kaderia Bahini surrendered all arms at his feet. The country did not run well, nor could it. For never in history had such a superpower been defeated so absolutely as in our war. Neither in the First World War nor the Second had any such superpower been so decisively defeated as America, China and powerful European states were in Bangladesh’s Liberation War. Not even Middle Eastern Arab states supported us. Only India and Russia stood beside us as friends of the freedom-loving people. Whatever one thinks, with victory in the Liberation War, the death warrant of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib was signed.
Had he not been murdered so brutally on 15 August, there would have been political character assassination. Attempts at character assassination were made. However corrupt one may be, corruption cannot be hidden forever. And one untouched by corruption cannot be made corrupt by a hundred efforts. Sheikh Hasina repeatedly said that when Ziaur Rahman was killed, he left only a broken suitcase and torn vest, yet later his descendants, Tarique Rahman and Begum Khaleda Zia, were called corrupt. If Sheikh Hasina’s words are true, then perhaps some of his kin may be corrupt, but not Ziaur Rahman. He was pure and incorruptible. Similar things were said of Bangabandhu, but fifty years after his death no more than Tk 27,000 of assets have been found.
Therefore, on the 50th anniversary of Bangabandhu’s death, Honourable Chief Adviser, while you are in power, as a Muslim and freedom fighter I arranged a Holy Milad Sharif at my residence for the peace of soul of my political father, the Father of the Nation Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. The police of Tangail, without invitation, obstructed this personal Milad Sharif. To pray for a great leader’s passing is a religious duty in Islam. How lawful or reasonable was state police obstruction? Had it been a social or political Milad, I would have written to the authorities for cooperation. They could have posted IB, DIB officers as needed. But for police to enter the residence of an 80-year-old citizen, a freedom fighter and holder of the nation’s highest gallantry award Bir Uttam, without permission—how lawful, how reasonable was that? Had there been a court order, I would say nothing. Had the administration officially prohibited the Milad, I might have objected, but not to you.
At one time, during Sheikh Hasina’s government, you were severely persecuted. I have always regarded you with the highest respect. I feel very proud that the Grameen Bank was born in my neighbourhood, at Akurtakur Para. When the Grameen Bank came under attack, at the request of Dr Kamal Hossain, I rushed to your side like a meteor. Wherever, whenever, and however protest was needed, I protested in that way. I never thought for a moment about what would happen to me or to our party. I know you now have very little time to reflect calmly. Yet I feel compelled to ask: on the day the house at No. 32 Dhanmondi—the address of our Liberation War, the existence of the Bengali, the faith of the Bengali—was demolished, did you make any attempt to preserve this historic architecture? Or did you consent to its demolition? If you were unable to prevent the demolition of Bangabandhu’s house, then I have nothing much to say. But if you were involved, then I must say this: when an unstoppable movement was unleashed against your Grameen Bank, had I and we not stood together in resistance, half of the Grameen Bank built by your labour and sweat would have been buried seventy hands deep in the earth.
Why say half? Much more could have been destroyed. In many places and many newspapers, you and others said repeatedly that because Kader Siddique stood beside you, you gained strength. That because his party spoke with you, you gained courage. Yet for one year and one month you have been at the centre of power. You have spent day and night negotiating with only a few parties, while leaving many of us out as if we were mere expendables—this is not something expected of a person of your skill, ability, and renown. Do not divide the nation only by saying “dictator, dictator and dictator’s cohorts”. The Liberation War, the freedom fighters, independence, Bangabandhu and Sheikh Hasina are not the same. The soul of Bengal is merged with Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib. The vast majority of the people of this country want independence, they want the Liberation War, they want Bangabandhu and Joy Bangla. Those who were arrested for chanting “Joy Bangla” at the National Memorial are the true people. In 1857, during the Sepoy Revolt, the British hanged thousands and strung them from the acacia trees on both sides of the road in Berhampore, Murshidabad. Today the whole world honours those men, not the British gallows. Even if it takes a hundred years, the same will happen. Those who went to prison for chanting “Joy Bangla” will not be condemned, but those who demolished Bangabandhu’s house have broken the heart of the Bengali nation and will be held accountable before history.
As a Muslim, I do not like statues, nor do I support idols. But even so, the destruction of Bangabandhu’s statue is equivalent to urinating on the head of Bangabandhu, on the Liberation War, and on the heads of the freedom fighters. In one sense, it is also urinating on my head. It is urinating on the head of Bir Uttam Ziaur Rahman as a freedom fighter, and on the head of the Bengali nation. According to Sharia, this is a grave sin. Freedom fighters have been garlanded with shoes. Yet the government remains silent—what does this silence indicate? As a senior citizen, as a freedom fighter, I expect redress from you on behalf of the people of the country.
You have announced elections in February. If you can hold a free and fair election, whatever else may happen, you will remain a revered figure in the eyes of the nation. No matter what anyone says, the people of Bangladesh want nothing more than a free and fair election. So much blood, so much war and conflict—if in ’71 the Pakistanis had accepted the verdict of the Bengali vote, then even that tragedy would not have happened. In the history of the world, no other country or nation has shed so much blood simply to uphold the verdict of the people’s vote.
You are a qualified, capable, internationally renowned man of great merit. That is why I have written so much. If the flute no longer plays, if the pen no longer moves, if I get no chance to write again, then I sincerely apologise for taking up your precious time. Yet I tried to say at least something of what needed to be said. You will consider it. Not everything can be said to everyone at all times. To you it can be said, or should be said. With that inner compulsion, I place this appeal before you.
Thank you.
Yours sincerely,
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